Wait For you

Summary:
He is still in the back of your mind, hidden deep within your thoughts. You bite your lip and clench your fists hard to keep the beautifully painful memories from surfacing. He will always be viewed as perfection to you.
You have finally given into him, the only other man you can love. Jacob. Now that he's had you, though, you feel him slip away. Your heart cannot afford to lose him, too.
But is someone waiting in the wings for you?

Notes:
This was a difficult and interesting story to make. I hope you feel as if you ARE Bella. It is what I was shooting for. Enjoy!
I own two copies of Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse. But they are just copies. Man, I wish I was Stephenie Meyer.

1. Lost affection

The last week and a half he has had a certain skip in his step. At first you smile at it sweetly, knowing he is happy. You love it when he feels good. The small, sunless town of Forks seems just a bit brighter when he grins.

But, as the days go by, Sam seems to be calling him into guard duty a bit late and a bit too long. Victoria has been destroyed, and you feel safe again. You feel as if he is safe. He no longer has to risk his life to protect yours. You are at ease.

It is all so confusing. You look back to when he had circled your home, trying to keep you safe from the sadistic vampire that refused to wave a white flag. Every night you would see him come in exhausted, just by running and watching. Every time he had a late shift he would be grouchy, and yet now he seems so happy.

Not that you mind. You love it when he's happy. You walk up to him and hug him from behind. He jumps. Odd. You never take him by surprise.

You step back, looking him up and down. The odd occasions are becoming too regular for your liking. You feel something tugging at you from the back of your mind. You ignore your intuition and smile at him sweetly, playing the role of the loving, carefree girlfriend.

He smiles at you again. Something is hidden behind his dark eyes, you know it, you aren't ready to admit it to yourself, though. You swallow your pride, and leave him be.

Then you catch that scent.

You grab his arm as he walks away, pulling him close again. He slips his arms around you – almost awkwardly – mistaking your closeness for a hug. You inhale deeply, and he wriggles free of your grasp.

“Shower,” he throws over his shoulder. His hands are trembling.

You listen as the sound of the running water starts. It seems as if with every little drop of water the shower spits out creates more and more confusion in you, and the pressure in the back of your head builds, now so very hard to ignore.

Cologne. He had smelled like cologne. His normal scent has vanished, the beautifully woodsy odor, gone. He smells sweetly of perfume. You wonder momentarily when he had gotten it. You don't remember him ever having cologne. But that's not the real problem.

Even if he had put on cologne, why would it still be there after he phased? The phase would have at least faded it, but it smelled strong and fresh.

You walk over to the bathroom and stand in front of it. Jacob's too hot shower causes steam to slide under the space under the door. You stand in it, finally able to smell the woodsy smell of him, the one you love so dearly. Your mind ignorantly mixes the natural scent with the perfume. This brings back a memory of a different, sweeter, natural smell, and your stomach drops.

Your arm automatically wraps around your torso, protecting yourself from falling to pieces. You block the thought out of self-preservation, promising your poor heart you would give in to it another time. You have other things on your mind, and Jacob will be out of the shower soon. You want to completely give in to such a memory, and the pain would be too intense for public.

There is nothing on TV, as always, but enough to let your mind wander – slightly. Your eyes begin to sting, and you refuse to give the tears the credit, so you blame it on your sleepless nights.

The dreams still come. But it is worse, now that you have given up the recklessness part of you to take care of the ones you love. They don't deserve to see you hurt. Your selfishness haunted you for months, but now you are cured of your reckless streak, though, at times you crave it.

Not that you miss those motorcycles. You just miss his face.

Your lower lip begins to tremble, and you lean your face into your hand, stopping it. Over the years you'd learned not to show weakness.

You scoff at your thoughts. You look no older than eighteen. You are twenty, and it seemed you haven't aged since he came into your life.